


Tempted

by Miss_Molliarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, F/M, Post Great Game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-25
Updated: 2011-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Molliarty/pseuds/Miss_Molliarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all that has happened; coming back from Afghanistan, finding a life full of excitement and mystery, John Watson is no longer content to have a simple, uncomplicated relationship. As luck would have it, neither is Molly Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempted

**Author's Note:**

> This is post 'Great Game' and contains a slight bit of smut. Any comments and suggestions are appreciated as this is a new ship for me.
> 
> I would like to thank [Lilactea](http://lilactea.tumblr.com) for always encouraging me to write no matter what the ship and no matter how long or short the story is. :*
> 
> I'd also like to thank [Rachel4Revenge](http://rachel4revenge.tumblr.com) for her thorough beta-reading/editing, enthusiasm and encouragement :D

Both of them were doctors. It made sense. Two different fields of medicine; but John Watson really didn't care at that point. All he cared about was what would get his adrenaline running, or rather who. He completely blamed Sherlock for this new-found need for everything to be a challenge, or at least to be slightly complicated.

The relationship he'd had with Sarah was good at first. They dated and had a good time. But it came to John's attention that Sarah was 'a sure thing'. Every time they were together she was very aggressive, showing how much she wanted to be with him. His chance to initiate anything rarely came and when it did, she was all too eager. With everything going on, and how he was changing, Sarah wasn't who John thought she was and she was definitely not who he wanted. To be fair to the both of them, John broke it off quickly and they were able to salvage enough of their relationship where they could still work with each other and be amiable. Friends.

In actuality, the doctor he had been watching, studying, and generally keeping his eye on was Molly Hooper. At first, he'd had major doubts. John thought she would be clingy and too easily wooed. Obviously - painfully obviously - she'd been attracted to Sherlock. However, most of the women they encountered did, for one reason or another. The events at the pool and all the kerfuffle afterwards had changed her. Lestrade had interrogated her and found she knew nothing of Jim Moriarty's dealings. He had been using her, and her demeanor communicated that Molly had had enough. It showed when both John and Sherlock had recovered from their injuries and were back solving cases. Molly's previous crush on Sherlock had dissolved into annoyed indifference. She no longer went out of her way to help him, only gave him access to anything if Lestrade had authorized it and Sherlock found it was like pulling teeth to get any kind of samples from her. These new traits drew John to Molly in a way he couldn't understand.

As if that wasn't enough, an afternoon in the lab proved to be very educational. Standing idly by as usual, waiting for Sherlock to get the information he needed, John was watching Molly's every move: the way she signed reports and the shape her mouth took when arguing with his flat-mate. She often had a small crinkle between her eyes when she was reaching her boiling point. For some reason, John found that little crinkle incredibly endearing and their argument faded into the background while he watched her. He should have been listening that day, however. John did manage to hear snippets of 'Jim' and 'this has nothing to do' as he stared at her small, delicate hands shaking with rage. But then there was silence after that delicate hand moved with lightning speed to deliver an almighty slap straight across Sherlock's face. The detective was stunned silent. Molly shot daggers from her fiery brown eyes, John could only stand helplessly and wish he knew exactly what had been said.

"Get. Out."

John looked from Molly to Sherlock, shocked, and followed him out. A quick parting glance showed Molly completely ignoring their exit.

It wasn't until they were in a cab, on their way to the next location, when John started to question Sherlock.

"What just happened?"

"You were there. Don't ask stupid questions."

"I meant... what did you say to her to make her slap the hell out of you?"

"Doesn't matter. It didn't work anyway."

"Work? What did you say?"

Sherlock rubbed at the red hand print on his cheek and regarded John, still not saying a word. Usually Sherlock was eager to enlighten him with whatever he knew, to prove how clever he was, share his process. This infuriated John to no end. Whatever was uttered to Molly was definitely a bit not good. There was something in the way Sherlock had dodged his question. Was he embarrassed about being smacked? The only thing John knew for certain was that, this time, Sherlock wasn't going to divulge his information.

What John didn't understand was why he needed to know what had caused Molly to turn violent, however briefly. The look on her face when she'd hit Sherlock was raw, white-hot anger. John never thought that Molly was capable of showing her emotions in such a direct way. The old Molly would have kept such emotions in check and inside. This new Molly that resided in the morgue had set up boundaries, enforced them more readily and didn’t let anyone question her authority. John found himself looking forward to this new challenge, this new personal mission to find out more. It made his stomach flip, and he began to hatch scenarios in his head like little vignettes. But which one would work?

None of them apparently. His patience had gone downhill with Sherlock being such a bad influence, always flitting about and not being able to wait. John found his chance when he was alone in the flat, very late and had no idea where Sherlock had gone off to. He was left to his own devices and fancied a pint. He only hoped that his timing would be fortunate.

John felt like a bit of a stalker, going out to look for Molly in particular. He'd stopped at about a dozen pubs, pretending to use the pay phone in the back or looking for his 'friends' and then moving on when he didn't see them. Dejected and about to give up, he walked into a small bar, more posh than a pub, that was playing soft, modern alternative music. That was where he found her. Molly wasn't alone, however. There was a young, well-dressed man leaning in and trying to start a conversation with her and John couldn't help a smile because Molly looked unbelievably bored. It was rather hot inside so he unzipped his jacket but left it on, resolving to find a seat at the bar where he could watch her but be out of the way.

The dress she was wearing was dark red and plain enough from the back, but when she turned slightly, he could see the deep cut down the front of the dress, drawing his eyes to the skin that showed. John hesitated before approaching her but was stopped by a woman who was obviously past her limit and she ceremoniously spilled her Merlot onto his favourite jumper. With a sigh of exasperation he tried not to draw attention to himself, but the woman's profuse, and loud, apologies got the attention of everyone in the bar. Including Molly.

"Oh... so sorry sweet’art, had a bit too many yeah?" The woman tried to apologize, swaying on the spot and blinking furiously to clear her vision. Her hand clung to his shirt to steady herself and the smell of the wine on her breath over-powered the cheap perfume she was wearing.

"Yes, you have. Thanks," he said tersely and noticed Molly dismissing Mr. Handsome-But-Boring and walking over toward him, her clutch in one hand.

John looked at her sheepishly. This was not what he wanted, not at all. But he was surprised at her reaction; a head tilt that made her hair spill down one shoulder and over the exposed skin he was trying not to look at, and a kind smile.

"Come on then John. My nan wouldn't forgive me if she knew I let a nice jumper like that get tossed in a bin." She motioned to the door and he followed willingly, without a word. "My flat is just around the corner. Can get you cleaned up."

"Thanks," was all that he could manage to say in that moment. John's mind raced. He didn't expect to be in her flat _tonight!_ It was bloody late and _he was going to her flat!_ A swift thought passed through his mind that maybe she had just picked him up, that maybe this was all going to be too easy, like it had been with Sarah. He started to panic and thought seeking her out had been a horrible idea. But he couldn't know for sure. This was a completely different Molly. She could just divest him of his jumper, clean it and send him on his way. There was only one way of knowing.

They reached her flat in no time and she was right, it really was just around the corner. He had only been to her flat once before; after he had healed from his injuries at the pool, he'd heard that Molly was on leave. Most likely it was because she was taking a mental health break. He had been the only one to check on her, in the sense that he had taken the effort to visit her and not just pick up a mobile or send a text. It was a small cozy flat, kept clean and welcoming and Molly's cat, Toby, poked his nose around the corner and then scampered away, presumably to hide in the bedroom.

Molly stood in front of him, surprising him out of his thoughts. "Alright then, coat off, jumper off."

John felt a thrill rush through him when she'd ordered him in a firm voice to remove the jumper. So far she'd gotten his pulse up; he wanted to see what else happened. Molly took the jumper from him and he noticed his under-shirt had been stained as well, but it was just a t-shirt and could be disposed of.

The sink had been filled with warm water and a few spoonfuls of a powdery concoction that Molly had labeled 'stain remover'. No doubt she had formulated the mixture herself. Tiny delicate hands worked the mixture into a paste on top of the stain. She let it sit for a moment and then dunked the whole thing into the warm water. "There, let that sit for a few minutes, it should be good as new. Oh!" She finally noticed the under-shirt and sighed. "I've got a shirt for you if you want to chuck that one in the bin."

John was aware he wasn't speaking much. If he did, his voice would come out either cracked from the tension he was feeling in his chest, or much too husky for the situation at hand. Pulling off the under-shirt, he tossed it into the bin under her kitchen cupboards and took a paper towel to sop up the dampness the wine had left on his stomach.

"Here," she said, handing him a plaid buttoned-down shirt. "It's my brother's, he left it here last week when he came for a visit."  
"Looks like we have the same tastes," John said, unfolding the shirt and pulling it on sleeve by sleeve.

Molly turned to the sink, and it could have been John's imagination, but it looked as if Molly was blushing. In truth, her eyes did sweep over John's torso, finding him fit but stocky, a thin layer of warmth under his skin just above solid muscle. He didn't bother buttoning the shirt - he was too distracted watching Molly work with his jumper. As he edged closer, he felt like a predator stalking unsuspecting prey.

"There, should be alright now. It will have to .... dry though." Molly had pulled the plug in the sink and let the water drain just as John had reached her, his hands on her hips and his breath soft on her neck. Molly stiffened in his grasp, but turned within it to meet John's eyes. Her chest heaved and she licked her lips, eyeing John and trying to regain control of the situation, which would suit John quite nicely. One warm hand slipped up his chest to trace the outline of the visible scar on his shoulder while John only watched her with fascination. He rarely let anyone see that scar and was baffled as to why he had let Molly see it now, letting her lean in and kiss it softly. Her little pink tongue flitted out to lick it quickly, nipping at the edges of the scar tissue with her teeth, and John drew in a ragged breath.

John couldn't take the anguish any longer. It was awkward and clumsy but their mouths met in a clashing kiss. Immediately she had opened her mouth to his, but it wasn't pliant; she gave as good as she got, sometimes biting lightly at his lip and smiling when he flinched. _That's it, go on and do it again._ Molly's fingernails scratched at his upper chest, along his collarbone and neck and they broke apart, breathless, just as John started to unzip the back of her dress.

"Tell me," he said.

"Tell you what?" She pressed her answer against his mouth ending in another searing kiss.

"Tell me what Sherlock said to you... before you hit him."

She stopped suddenly, stunned and irritated, and looked at him. "I would really rather not," she said, shortly, and tried to get back to where they had just been.  
"Please tell me, I want to know."  
"Why?" Molly pulled away from him but not fully: she was trapped with her dress half-undone and John’s hips pressing into hers, keeping her in place. He didn't need to answer her though, she could guess judging from the ravenous look in his eyes. "I see... you get off on me getting angry, is that it?"  
"Yes..." he admitted it, openly, letting the word rumble in his chest before tugging on one shoulder of her dress.

Molly stopped him, not looking altogether pleased (but not entirely repulsed either).

"Then maybe I should keep it to myself and make you wonder a bit more, and wonder... if there was anything so bad you could say to me that would get me to hit you like that?"

"Yes," he breathed, pressing the full length of his tongue onto the hollow of her neck, feeling her pulse in his mouth.

"All this excitement, all this mystery... and you can't be with a normal woman anymore, can you?" John felt her hand around his jaw, jerking it upward to make him look at her. He was panting and shaking his head and Molly regarded him with an unreadable expression.

"Perhaps it would be best if you left." John groaned audibly. He wanted to have her, that was obvious by the bulge in his trousers. However, Molly continued, "Don't worry though. I find myself craving some excitement as well. Even though I would love to feel you," her hand slid from his jaw all the way down his chest to cup his firm groin in her hand, making his breath stop short and his cock twitch in his pants, "we could have so much more fun later. Something to look forward to." Molly's grin was wicked and enticing and John lunged for it, kissing her roughly and having it returned in earnest.

They did manage to break off without bringing each other off. No, they held on and John spoke finally after catching his breath with his palms flat on her back and not even having gotten a glimpse of her perky breasts. "You... are amazing, you know? Different and exciting... I want you so badly."

"You will, dear doctor. Just not tonight." She kissed him again, her lips red and raw from their tangle, and she reached one hand behind her to click the kettle on for tea. "It's late, so I suppose I'm not going to kick you out to walk in the cold or get a dodgy cab." She blinked and her breath slowed. "So I'm going to make some tea and get ready for bed. You can stay if you want. But you have to behave. Otherwise... you'll never get to know."

John's chest tightened with longing, and he wanted to know so badly, wanted to know everything that he could do, that she could do, that they could do together. He had just gotten a taste of it, but he needed more. If the only way to get more was to behave and wait, heighten the tension and the sheer desire, then that was what he was going to do.

They pulled apart and Molly's hand touched his cheek lightly before she walked out of the kitchen to change. John leaned on the counter and breathed hard, trying to gain control of himself. Making tea seemed to distract him long enough to slow his breathing and regain his mental faculties. Molly returned with towels, for both him and his jumper, and she laid the knitted garment out carefully to dry on her table.

They both had a cup of weak tea with milk and honey, glances being shot and sly smiles creeping across both of their faces. "You can use the shower in the morning if you'd like." She motioned to the towels with a raised eyebrow and set her cup in the sink, her supple chest brushing against his arm as she did so, teasing him with the challenge he so craved. "Good night John. Sleep well."

"Good night Molly. Sweet dreams," he shot back, his mouth turned up at the corners in a wicked grin.

It took all of his willpower not to think of what could happen should he venture into her bedroom - its closed door seemed to mock him as he stared at it. But he finally settled in on the couch with a few pillows, fresh sheets and a warm afghan Molly had set out for him.

He laughed in his sleep that night. A wonderful deep laugh as he dreamed of finding her secrets out, bit by bit and one by one.


End file.
